


Grounded on Living Skin

by romanticalgirl



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beauty is skin deep.  A tattoo goes all the way to the bone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded on Living Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://amberlynne.livejournal.com/profile)[**amberlynne**](http://amberlynne.livejournal.com/). Thanks to [](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/profile)[**hackthis**](http://hackthis.livejournal.com/) for the beta, [](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/profile)[**sparky77**](http://sparky77.livejournal.com/) for the Greek and [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/)**inlovewithnight** for the title and the ink. You guys rock in so many ways, I can't even name them all.
> 
> Originally posted 9-7-09

“There’s no way in hell,” Garza points his bottle in the general direction of the rest of Gunny’s house. “It’s not even fucking allowed.”

“Don’t be a stupid wetback fuck.” Chaffin smirks and takes the bottle of Jim Beam from Holsey. “No rule about it.”

“Even fucking Fruity Rudy has one.”

“More than one.”

“You’d know, Pappy,” Manimal barks.

“Fuck that, dog.” Poke stretches his legs out in front of him and throws back a shot of tequila. “Who _doesn’t_ fucking know how many tattoos Rudy has. Every one of you gay-ass motherfuckers has been caught staring at him.”

“It’s probably a totally pussy tattoo, you know,” Lilley states. “Butterfly.”

“Dolphin.”

“Kitten.”

“Bunny rabbit.”

“Rainbow.”

“Rubber duck.”

“Fuck that shit.” Ray sits down on the floor, stealing Walt’s beer right out of his hand. “It’s some gay-ass poetry from William Shakespeare or some shit.”

“What the ever-loving fucking are you retards talking about?” Brad leans against the back of Poke’s armchair. “Do you even know who Shakespeare _is_ , Ray?”

“Yeah, he was some dick-sucking faggot poetry writer who passed other people’s shit off as his own, fucking over high school students into infinity.”

“You’d know, Iceman.” Poke tilts his head back, smiling knowingly at Brad.

“Know what? More than any of you? Was there ever even a question of that?”

“Q-tip says the LT doesn’t have ink, Sergeant,” Garza states.

Brad looks at Garza then turns his gaze to Stafford. “And how do you know that?”

Q-tip shrugs. “You ever seen it?” He looks Brad square in the eye. “I seen the LT stripped down to skivvies, and I ain’t seen no ink on him.”

Brad’s chest swells slightly, but his breathing stays measured, even. “Maybe you weren’t looking in the right place.”

Q-tip starts to say something, but then his mouth snaps closed and no one picks up the thread of conversation. Brad turns his head slightly and offers Nate a grin. Nate looks at all the men nervously drinking from their assorted bottles. “Was it something I said?”

“The men were discussing the latest world events.” Brad doesn’t betray anything in his smile or his voice. “The war. The wildfires. Whether or not you’ve got any ink.”

Nate raises his eyebrow sharply. “You’re back in the real world and this is what occupies your time?” There’s a hint of a smile curving his lips. “You all need to get out more.”

No one says anything for a long moment until Garza breaks the silence. “So, do you, sir? Have any ink?”

“Yes. Right here.” Nate taps two fingers against the flat plane of skin to the right of his dick. “It’s in Latin.”

“See?” Ray crows. “Told you!”

“What does it say?” Pappy drawls in his thick accent.

“It says, ‘If you’re close enough to read this, you’d better be ready to swallow’.”

Brad coughs as the rest of the guys break up laughing, their short attention spans leading them into other, less-fraught conversations. Nate smiles and shakes his head before turning on his heel. Brad follows Nate to Mike’s back door and out onto the lawn. They’re quiet for a long time, listening to the insects and the nearby ocean. “Is that true, sir?”

“Is what true?” Nate asks softly.

“About your ink?”

Nate looks at Brad for a long moment, his eyes shadowed and dark. Just as Brad’s about to break the silence, Nate turns on his heel, nodding for Brad to follow him. “How badly do you want to know?”

**

Halfway to the house, Walt chases Ray outside, and Ray grabs onto Brad’s waist, trying to hide behind him. Nate disappears through the sliding glass door and by the time Brad disentangles himself with a few rough shoves and some choice insults, Nate’s gone. Brad curses under his breath and tries to decide if the opportunity disappeared with Nate. He’s still not sure an hour later when he parks his bike outside the small bungalow-style house Nate shares with one of the other officers. There aren’t any lights on, but Brad can see the ghostly flicker of the television, so he knocks, three solid raps on the door.

Nate’s wearing faded Dartmouth sweats and a t-shirt advertising some band Brad’s never heard of. Nate looks relaxed. He looks _young_. “Brad.” His voice doesn’t give anything away.

“Very.”

“Excuse me?” Nate smiles, and Brad’s not sure if Nate’s amused, confused, or just fucking with him.

There’s also the possibility that Nate doesn’t have a clue what he’s talking about given that their conversation ended well over an hour ago. “Your tattoo. Very badly.”

“Ah.” Nate’s smile widens to a full-fledged, honest-to-God grin. “But do you read Latin, Sergeant?”

“No, sir. But if it’s there, I figure it either says what you say it does, it’s some variation of ‘veni, vidi, vici’ with less conquering and more coming, or it’s ‘objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.”

Nate laughs and steps back, effectively inviting Brad inside. There’s an old Twilight Zone episode on the TV, and it catches his attention for a moment. Nate nods toward the set. “You like the Twilight Zone?”

“Yeah.” Brad strips off his leather jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair as Nate shuts and locks the front door. “This is a good one.” He turns his attention from the TV.

“How long did your tattoo take?”

“A long time.” Brad shoves his hands in his pockets, his eyes following Nate as he settles back on the couch, one foot underneath him and one on the floor. “How do you think I got so good at sitting still?”

Nate laughs. “Did it hurt?”

“Some,” Brad says with a shrug.

“But it was worth it.”

Brad inclines his head slightly and walks over, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of Nate. Nate’s eyes are on the TV, but his breathing shifts, falling into rhythm with Brad’s. “My sniper instructor at BRC had a Care Bear on his right bicep.”

“A Care Bear?”

“Yeah. Grumpy Bear. He was carrying an M16.” Brad watches Nate thoughtfully. “Is there a reason I’m here, sir?”

Nate pulls his gaze away from a young Robert Redford on the TV screen. “You came on your own, didn’t you?”

Brad nods once and rubs his hands on his thighs. “Do you have a tattoo, Nate?”

Brad’s staring at Nate hard enough to notice him shiver slightly when Brad says his name. Nate’s hand tightens on the remote control before he turns the TV sound off. He holds Brad’s gaze for a long minute then stands up. Brad raises his gaze to keep eye contact, and Nate’s mouth curves into a smile. Nate catches the hem of his t-shirt and tugs it over his head, dropping the warm fabric in Brad’s lap. He raises an eyebrow and holds his arms straight out to his sides and turns in a slow circle.

Brad swallows hard, his hands fisting in Nate’s shirt as Nate turns. Brad’s eyes trace over every inch of Nate’s skin. He sees everything, from the play of Nate’s muscles to the wrinkles on his skin where his shirt was pressed to his back by the couch. He sees the silvery-pink skin of a scar on Nate’s side and the dark blond hair that trails down into his sweats. “I don’t see any ink.”

“Nothing, huh?” Nate’s still smiling. He’s directly in front of Brad, standing between Brad’s spread legs. “That doesn’t look good for me, does it?”

“I’m afraid not.” Brad licks his lips, swallowing again as Nate’s fingers skim the waistband of his sweats. There’s a hint of paleness from where Nate’s been in the sun and Brad squeezes Nate’s shirt in his hands even harder, wringing it to keep some semblance of control over himself, over the sheer _want_ that’s humming beneath his skin.

“There’s still hope though.” Nate hooks his thumbs under the elastic, shifting his balance as he tugs on the sweats.

“Wait.” Brad closes his hand around Nate’s wrist, stilling him. “Don’t.”

Nate’s eyebrow shoots up. “ _Don’t_?”

Brad shakes his head. “If there’s no ink, please don’t. I…I only want to see skin you want to show me.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to show you?” Nate’s free hand tugs the waistband down a little lower, the curve of his hip bare beneath it.

“Do you have a tattoo, Nate?”

Nate stops and releases his sweats. “No.”

“Okay. I’m going to…”

“Take me to get one.”

“What?”

Nate shrugs casually, though there’s nothing remotely casual about his look. It’s intent and intense, the same look he had on his face when he defied Encino Man, the same what he looked when Godfather called them on the carpet about the wounded boy. “Take me to get a tattoo.”

“What would you get?” Brad’s voice is rough, thick with arousal. “A big heart with an arrow through it?”

“With ‘Mom’ written in cursive right in the middle.” Brad’s hand uncurls from Nate’s wrists, and there’s a red band of pressure from where Brad’s fingers held him. “Something tribal maybe.”

“And have Poke on your case for appropriating more of his culture?” Brad manages a weak smile. “You sure you want to do that?”

Nate laughs, and the sound is just as rough as his own voice, and Brad’s close to ripping Nate’s shirt in half. “Is there a minority Tony _isn’t_ a part of?”

“As far as I can tell, he only _acts_ like a girl.” Brad looks up at Nate, his eyes hot. Nate’s fingers are around his other wrist, rubbing where Brad had held him. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Just…feeling it.”

Brad nods, not quite sure what Nate means by that, what the catch in his voice signifies. “You really want to do this?”

“Will you go with me?”

Brad licks his lips and nods. “Yeah, I’ll go.”

Nate exhales roughly and nods as well. “Okay.”

Brad stands up, his body close to Nate’s. His hands settle on Nate’s hips, his thumbs rubbing the bare skin just above Nate’s waistband. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yeah.” Nate’s eyes close and he sways forward slightly. “When?”

“Tomorrow night.” Brad rests his forehead against Nate’s. He can’t close his eyes with Nate this close, so he stares down at Nate’s long eyelashes as they flicker against his tanned cheeks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Nate’s chin comes up, his breath warm against Brad’s mouth. “I’ll be here.”

Brad breathes out a heavy breath and steps to the side, easing away from Nate and toward the door. “Goodnight.”

**

Brad stares at his reflection in the mirror. He doesn’t look any different, but his entire body _feels_ different. He’s jerked off three times already today, and that’s on top of the marathon session he had with his right hand after getting home from Nate’s the night before.

He keeps reminding himself that Nate was drunk last night; they were _all_ drunk last night. He’ll probably get to Nate’s tonight, and Nate will have forgotten all about it. He’ll probably wonder what Brad’s doing there. Anything that resembled Nate wanting Brad to touch him, to explore his half-naked body was just Brad’s own not completely sober brain overreacting to too much thinking about Nate’s _completely_ naked and possibly tattooed body. He’ll just go over, act like it’s just to make sure Nate’s recovered all right from his hangover and then he’ll ride the bike at top speed for a few hours to try and get the images out of his head.

Just the thought of the bike is enough to make his dick start to harden again, and he’s fairly certain he’s going to have to jack off as soon as he gets to Nate’s despite the fact he just came all over his shower. He rakes a hand through his short hair and then rubs the top of his head. He’s usually much better at keeping himself out of situations like this, but something about Nate Fick short-circuits all the higher brain functions Brad prides himself on.

“Fuck,” he mutters, going into his bedroom and tugging a shirt over his head. He pulls on his tennis shoes and heads outside, backing the bike out of his parking spot. The sun beats down on his hair before he tugs the helmet on, kicking the bike over and trying to get the speed up enough in the short ride to Nate’s to clear his head. The speed cancels out the vibration of the bike, so Brad feels relatively in control by the time he gets to Nate’s, or at least he doesn’t feel like a horny 16-year-old with his first stolen copy of _Hustler_. The calm doesn’t last long when he sees Nate wearing low-slung shorts and no shirt, sweat beading on his spine as he waters his grass. Brad kills the engine and watches from behind the visor of his helmet, licking his lips at the sight.

He can practically taste the sweat on his tongue, can imagine the feel of Nate’s skin warm against his mouth.

Nate notices him, raising a hand to block the sun from his eyes. “Hey,” he calls.

Brad pulls off his helmet and sets it on the bike. “Hey,” he says, climbing off his bike. “You look like a goddamn, free-love, sixties hippie.”

“I look better than you,” Nate fires back. “I think I saw that same outfit on one of the CPAs my dad golfs with. What, did your mother buy you that outfit?”

“Very nice.” Brad walks onto the lawn. “I take time out of my busy schedule to help you, and you insult me.”

“What’s the matter,” Nate smiles and lifts the hose, threatening Brad with the spray. “Can’t take it?”

“Just try it, sir,” Brad warns him, his lips curved up in a threat of a smile. “Though you may want to think about the possible consequences.”

“You don’t think I can handle the consequences?”

Brad’s smile breaks through and he takes a step toward Nate. “I never said that.”

“I’ve been working in the yard for five hours. I’d rather look like a hippie than die of heatstroke.” Nate aims the hose up, letting the spray fall down on him, soaking his short hair and sluicing the sweat from his body, his pants darkening and clinging to his thighs. He groans as the cold water washes over him and Brad has to bite his lip to keep from matching the sound. He can picture Nate in the shower, wet and naked and soapy and hard and it’s a lot too much like the fantasy Brad had while jerking off in _his_ shower. Nate tosses the hose and then goes over to shut it off. “Let me shower and change, and then we’ll go, okay?”

“Go?”

Nate smiles though his forehead wrinkles slightly, and he looks at Brad like he’s slow. “To get a tattoo.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“That is why you’re here, right?” Nate jogs up the steps to his front door, not looking back to see if Brad’s following. “You weren’t that drunk, were you?”

“No. I just wasn’t sure if _you_ were that drunk.”

“Ha!” Nate heads for his bedroom, pausing to look back at Brad. “If I was that drunk, I wouldn’t have let you leave.”

“Nate.” Brad clears his throat, surprised by the sound of Nate’s name, by the rough way he said it. Nate doesn’t move, looking at Brad far too closely, far too intently. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“With _me_.”

“Yeah, with you.”

“No. Sir…Nate…what…what the _fuck_ are you doing to _me_?” Brad shakes his head. “Are you just fucking with me? Are you… _what_ are you doing?”

Nate walks back down the hallway, stopping right in front of Brad. There are a few inches between them and it doesn’t take much for Nate to just tilt his head and meet Brad’s eyes. “Let’s go get the tattoo and we’ll take it from there.”

“Take _what_ , sir?”

Nate’s suddenly there in the space where he hadn’t been, his mouth ghosting over Brad’s in what can only loosely be described as a kiss. “This.” He pulls away before Brad can react, heading into his bedroom and shutting the door. Brad watches him go, trying to get his brain back the fuck online, cursing under his breath and heading past VJ’s bedroom to the bathroom so he can jerk off. _Again_.

**

Brad’s sitting at Nate’s table, tracing over the lettering on a piece of paper when Nate comes back out, dressed in another pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Brad glances up and looks him over, licking his lips before turning back to the paper. Nate comes up to him, his hand on the back of Brad’s chair. “What do you think?”

The script is in Nate’s careful handwriting, firm and precise. _Μαχόμεθα ίνα ειρήνην έχωμεν_

“What the fuck is it?” Brad asks, looking up at Nate. “Ancient Greek?”

Nate laughs. “Actually, yes.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Brad smirks up at him, his breath catching in his throat at how close Nate is, at the feel of his fingers over the back of Brad’s chair and brushing against his shoulder blade. “Let me guess, it reads, ‘I went to a liberal pussy college and now I speak a dead language’?”

“It’s amazing how close you are.” Nate moves to the chair next to Brad, his fingers grazing along Brad’s shoulders. Brad manages to exhale, his breath stirring the paper slightly. Nate picks it up, thumb running over the characters. “It’s a quote from Aristotle. ‘We make war that we may live in peace’.”

“You believe that?”

Nate blinks and looks up from the paper. “Yeah. Just because I’m leaving the Corps doesn’t mean I don’t believe what we stand for, that I don’t believe in what we do.”

“A lot of people get disillusioned and leave and…” Brad shrugs. It’s too hard to say that he doesn’t want Nate to think less of him – for staying, for being who and what he is – but it’s the truth nonetheless.

Nate’s fingers brush over the back of Brad’s hand. “I believe in it. I believe we need warriors, and I believe I had the pleasure of serving with some of the very best of them.” He grins, wide and honest and amused. “Now, come on. Let’s go have someone stab me repeatedly with a needle in the name of art.”

“And they say Marines are masochists.”

Nate laughs and Brad grins in response, loving the loose and easy sound. Brad shrugs and heads out the door, straddling the bike as Nate locks up. Nate climbs on behind him, taking the spare helmet from Brad. He presses close, hands wrapped around Brad’s waist. Brad looks over his shoulder and Nate’s grinning as he drops the helmet on his head.

“Hold on. I’d hate to have to explain to Gunny that I broke you.”

“You can try, Colbert, but I’m not the pussy you think I am.”

“When I think of you, sir, I can safely say I _never_ think of pussy.”

Nate leans in, his voice low and rough as Brad turns the bike over. “Good.”

**

Jake is sitting at the desk when they walk in, his feet on top of the scarred wood, his leather boots laced all the way up his thighs. Brad watches Nate’s eyebrows go up, but he’s impressed that he doesn’t comment. Jake’s not exactly the kind of guy you see every day unless you frequent tattoo parlors, Maori tribes, prisons, circuses or gay nightclubs. Or a combination of all of the above. He has more visible piercings than most people have fingers, and there’s not an inch of skin showing that doesn’t have ink on it.

“Colbert, you dirty dog.” Jake salutes Brad with just his middle finger. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

“I’d heard you got shut down by the state.” Brad looks around the room behind Jake, waving to a few of the people he recognizes. “Artemis in?”

“Nope. She’s decided to pursue her first love.”

“Tattooing is her first love.”

“Right, but she also likes getting laid, and so she took the night off to do that.” Jake turns his attention to Nate and _smiles_. “Oh, hel _lo_ , sailor.”

“Marine,” Brad snaps.

“Department of the Navy – so I stand by my assessment,” Jake says dismissively to Brad before he drops his feet to the floor and leans in, eyes riveted on Nate. “You’re not with him, are you?” He asks before getting up and walking around the desk, surveying Nate from head to toe. “I mean, what does Colbert have? Just because he’s some Viking god or some shit like that. Totally self-involved. Probably doesn’t even care if the pretty boy he’s fucking gets off. You need someone who’s going to take care of you.”

Nate glances at Brad, and he’s smiling so Brad just rolls his eyes. “He’s not interested, Jake. If for no other reason than he doesn’t want to spend an hour unlacing those ridiculously eighties Adam Ant boots.”

“Not everyone is as wham, bam, thank you ma’am as you.” Jake’s pouting Brad can see Nate pressing his lips together to hide his smile. Brad elbows Nate in the arm and Nate nearly laughs. “Maybe _he_ likes to take his time.”

“More to the point,” Brad adds, “how do you know I like to fuck pretty boys?”

“Obviously you don’t, since you never did ask me out.” Jake pouts even more dramatically. “So, what’s your pleasure? You want to add to your masterpiece?”

“Nope.” Brad inclines his head toward Nate. “He’s a virgin.”

Jake groans and Nate blushes like the altar boy he was. It shouldn’t send heat thrumming through Brad’s body but it does all the same. “I don’t believe you,” Jake leers. “I think he should strip and show us every inch of skin.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not here to fulfill your sick fantasies.” Brad reaches for the one of the books on the desk and turns it around. “Who’s your best with lettering?”

“Artemis.” At Brad’s look, Jake holds up his hands in surrender. “But the best one I’ve got here is Max.”

“Max. Have I seen his work?”

“I don’t think so.” Jake pulls a book out of one of the drawers and opens it, turning it so Brad and Nate can see the pages of photos. Nate glances at Brad and then back out at the studio, watching as several other artists work on clients. The room is alive with the soft buzz of needles, the occasional hiss of pain. Brad takes his time thumbing through the plastic sleeves before nodding.

“Okay, yeah. He’ll do. Is he free right now?”

Jake looks over his appointment book and wrinkles his nose. “How intricate are we talking?” Nate pulls out the slip of paper and Jake nods. “Yeah. He can get you guys in. Just need you to sign your life away.”

“I’m in the Marines,” Nate reminds him. “I already did that.”

“Well, this should be relatively painless then.” He places a couple of forms in front of Nate and highlights where he needs to sign. Nate skims them and signs then hands the forms back. “Okay,” Jake says when everything is in order. “Max!” He hollers at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying. “Customer!”

Brad heads toward the station next to Artemis’s, Nate behind him. The curtain to the back room moves and then opens, and Max walks out to join them.

Brad mutters a curse under his breath as Nate walks past him toward Max, hand out to shake. Max is Nate’s height, but he’s bulkier. He’s a surfer. Brad can tell by the loose, easy stride he has, the way he carries himself. His skin is dark in a way that more than a tan, and he looks like the fucking wet dream cover boy of every romance novel Brad’s seen his sister read. Max smiles, his white teeth standing out starkly against his dark skin, as he grips Nate’s hand firmly.

Brad wants to kill him.

He walks over, aware that Max and Nate are talking and pretty soon it’s going to look weird for him to be standing back with murder in his eyes. His Iceman persona is harder to wrap around him in the real world, even harder when Nate’s involved. Max looks up at Brad and smiles at Nate. “He’s famous here, you know.”

Nate glances over his shoulder and smiles. “He’s famous a lot of places.”

“Artemis has pictures of the entire process of his back.” Max points to the wall over at the remaining empty station. “It was before my time, of course.”

Yes. Brad is _definitely_ going to kill him.

“Maybe if you’re nice, he’ll model it for you.” Nate’s fucking grinning and Brad barely manages a tight smirk.

“We’re here for you,” Brad reminds him.

“You have a design?” Max takes the paper from Nate’s hands, looking it over closely. “Greek?”

“Yeah.” Nate’s blushing and Brad is going to ring this Max bastard’s neck in about five seconds. He’s tempted to tell Jake that he wants a female artist, but then Brad would never live that down. It’s clear that Nate _likes_ Max, Brad needs to calm the fuck down. He just doesn’t see that happening. Ever.

“Where do you want it?”

Nate gestures to his back, long fingers curving over his shoulder blade. Brad can see the tattoo there already, burned black in Nate’s skin. “It’s important to me,” Nate tells Max, “but it’s also something I’m putting behind me. Figuratively and literally.”

Brad’s instinct to kill is snuffed with those words and he closes his mouth, pressing his lips together. He suddenly regrets bringing Nate here for this, for taking him one step closer to leaving the Corps, to leaving him. Nate glances over at him and Brad avoids his eyes, turning his gaze to Max.

“All right. Shirt off and over here in the chair.” Nate tugs his shirt over his head and straddles the chair, chest pressed to the vinyl back. He smiles up at Brad as Brad leans against the edge of the counter, his eyes back on Nate’s face as Nate turns away. “This is your first, right?”

“Yeah,” Nate nods.

“It’s going to hurt. Thin skin and bone. You don’t have a lot of body fat, so be prepared for that. I’m going to drape most of your back, clean the spot we’re going to work with and then get to work.” He pins Nate’s paper to his board and then looks at Nate’s back. “How big do you want to go?”

“No further than the edge of the shoulder blade.”

“No problem.” Max gets to work, prepping Nate under Brad’s watchful eyes. Max is quick and professional, explaining each step of the process to Nate, making sure Nate can see him open the individual needles, each ink cap. His voice is smooth and soothing and Brad can see Nate relax as he talks, though Nate’s grin remains tight at the edges, slightly nervous.

Max uses a dark pencil and sketches the outline of the quote onto paper, getting Nate’s approval before copying it on thermal paper and laying the temporary tattoo on Nate’s back, his fingers stroking Nate’s skin. Brad bites the inside of his lower lip and watches, walking over to see the finished design when Max holds the mirror so Nate can see the reflection. Nate looks up, meeting Brad’s eyes in the glass. Brad nods. “Yeah. Looks good.”

“Okay then.” Nate nods and closes his eyes as Max starts the machine, tensing slightly as Max’s gloved hand rubs lightly at the sketched outline. Brad grabs an empty folding chair and moves it just to the side of Nate’s chair, reaching for Nate’s chin and turning his head so he’s looking at Brad.

“Hold still,” Max admonishes.

Brad glares at Max and then turns his attention back to Nate. “You could have gotten it in the small of your back.” His voice is conversational as he nods over Nate’s shoulder for Max to begin. “Tramp stamps are all the rage.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” Nate warns him, flinching slightly as the needle makes first contact.

“Of course, I’m not sure if it qualifies if it’s ancient Greek. Maybe if it said ‘I’m a whore just like Dionysus’.”

“He…” Nate stops and presses his lips together for a moment before continuing. “He was the god of wine.”

“Yeah, but he was also all about getting his women in ritual madness and ecstasy. Getting the Maenads all stirred up and shit.” Brad strokes the back of Nate’s hand, and Nate grips his fingers tightly. Everything else looks calm and Brad knows the training is taking over, muscle memory and warrior spirit. “Totally a whore,” Brad sums up.

“That’s actually m-more of a pimp. Or a v-very smart man.” Nate squeezes Brad’s hand again, opening his eyes. The corners are crinkled with pain. “Get all those women to worship you and you’ve got it made. Or so I would assume. You could tell me, I suppose.”

“Women don’t worship me,” Brad laughs.

“I stand corrected: it’s all the _guys_ in the platoon that do that.” Nate’s smiling, so Brad knows it’s a joke, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in, closing the space between them.

“ _All_ of the guys?” His voice is soft and there’s something in it – emotion or danger or both. He’s not completely sure himself, and neither is Nate if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

“Well, I’m not one-hundred percent sure how Stinetorf feels about you…”

Brad scoots even closer. “You know what I’m asking.”

Nate nods. “Yes.”

Brad leans back, his eyes never leaving Nate’s until Nate closes his eyes, his entire body focused on the tattoo machine. Brad keeps his grip on Nate’s hand, not willing to let it go, his body reacting every time Nate tightens his grip or makes a noise. Max talks a little during the process, mostly to keep Nate updated. He very deliberately doesn’t look at Brad, and that’s probably best for everyone. It’s hard enough for Brad to watch Max put his hands on Nate’s skin.

Instead he lets his eyes roam over Nate’s body. He’s spent a lot of the past year looking at Nate in various stages of dress, but it’s rare that Nate’s so focused on something else that Brad can take his time and memorize him. The lines of his ribs, the flex of his bicep as he squeezes Brad’s hand and the lines where his tan shades darker, gradients of sun on his skin, cinnamon colored freckles that Brad counts slowly, wanting to trace and connect them until they spell out the secret of Nate under his fingers.

He’s not exactly sure how long he just looks at Nate, watching the rough rise and fall of his breathing. His eyes stay on the waistband of Nate’s shorts, the way they don’t quite fit to the small of his back and Brad can see the dark hint of his briefs in the shadow of the fabric. He loses track of time, loses himself until Nate squeezes his hand again and pulls it away.

The persistent hum of the tattoo machine dies down and Max clears his throat. “All done.”

“Oh.” Brad stands up, rubbing his hands on his thighs. His shorts feel too tight, the pull of his half-hard cock making them uncomfortable. “Let’s see.” Nate turns and the characters are etched in black on his tanned skin and Brad sucks in a harsh breath. He wants to touch it, to taste it, but he simply nods. “Nice work.”

“Thanks.” Max nods his acceptance of the compliment before he turns Nate back around and starts putting the bandage over the tattoo. Nate smiles and thanks Max enthusiastically. He grabs his shirt, hissing as he pulls it on. Brad keeps his distance, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Nate glances over at him and smiles. “My bones are still vibrating.”

“It’s a good warm up for what I have planned for you.”

Nate raises an eyebrow and smiles knowingly. “Is that so?”

“Unless you’re planning on staying here with Max.”

“No. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.” Nate glances over as Max walks up, invoice in hand. Brad watches him with narrowed eyes, not trusting anyone whose hands have been all over Nate’s skin.

“Here’s information on the after care.” Max smiles, the look just for Nate. “Any questions, just give me a call. My number’s on the bottom.”

“Thanks,” Nate says again as he and Max walk up to the main desk.

Brad follows behind them, his fingers clenched into fists. Nate settles his bill, leaving a generous tip, and shakes Max’s hand awkwardly, obviously not used to using his left hand. Brad glares at Max the entire time, ignoring Max’s smirk. As soon as Max releases Nate’s hand, Brad slides his hand against the small of Nate’s back and guides him outside.

Nate shivers as they move out of the air conditioning and into the heat. “Fuck. My reactions are all out of whack.”

“Let’s get a drink.” Brad steers him down the sidewalk to one of the bars along the street, pushing the door open for Nate.

“You know, you didn’t tell me what you think of it.”

“You put it behind you.” Brad keeps his voice calm, letting the sounds of the crowded bar wash over them. Nate looks at him sharply, waiting until Brad signals for two beers before he speaks.

“That’s what you think?”

“ _Literally_ , Nate.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Nate takes a pull of his beer and exhales. “But tell me this: do you think by leaving the Corps, I’m forfeiting my status as a Marine? As a warrior?”

“I didn’t say that.” Brad fingers the neck of his bottle, smearing the condensation with his fingertips. “It just seems final. You’re leaving us. The Marines, the platoon.”

“You know,” Nate says with a smile, “that would be a much more compelling argument if half the guys were getting their discharge papers or heading out to other units.” Nate reaches for his bottle then winces, using his left hand instead. “My leaving doesn’t have any bearing on how I feel about any of you.” He shifts in his seat, his knee brushing against Brad’s thigh. “So you don’t like the tattoo?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You think I’m a pussy for having ancient Greek on my back?”

“No.” Brad rubs his hand across his lips and sets his beer very carefully on the bar. “I think you’re one of the smartest men I know -- and I admire the hell out of you.” Brad tilts his head and looks at Nate through his lashes, his smile mocking. “The ancient Greek, well, it’s a little gay, sir.”

“That’s all right,” Nate admits as he holds Brad’s gaze, not looking away at all as he moves closer, his voice barely a whisper. “So am I.”

Brad grabs blindly for his beer and swallows the rest of it down. “Let’s go.”

Nate finishes his beer off while Brad pays for their drinks, tossing down money without waiting for the tab or looking away from Nate’s lips wrapped around the mouth of his bottle. They leave quickly, Brad heading for his bike while digging out the keys. He straddles it and waits for Nate to climb on behind him and grip him tightly around the waist. Nate’s breath is hot on Brad’s neck. “Are you going to take me home?”

Brad kicks the engine over, glancing back at Nate. “Either that or I’m going to fuck you right here.”

“Think I’d like the first time to be a little more private than this.” Nate’s voice is hot and breathless, hard to hear over the bike’s engine.

Brad pulls his helmet on and waits for Nate to do the same. “Hold on tight,” is all Brad says in response, kicking off the curb and flying down the street, weaving through traffic, his pulse pounding in time with the beat of Nate’s heart against his back.

**

Nate strips off his shirt as soon as they clear the door, making a low noise as he angles it over his right arm. Brad watches him toss it aside and head for the kitchen, and he raises an eyebrow, unsure where the fucking went between the tattoo parlor and here.

“Are you hungry?”

Brad strides across the room and catches Nate by the waist, stopping him before he reaches the kitchen. Brad walks Nate a few steps in the opposite direction until Nate’s backed up against the old oak table he uses as a desk. Brad pulls Nate back until his body is flush with Brad’s, back to Brad’s chest. He bends his head, tongue flicking over the pulse in Nate’s throat. “You have no idea.”

Nate’s head falls back against Brad’s shoulder and he groans softly. “I meant for food.”

“I didn’t.” He flattens his hand against Nate’s stomach and slides it up, palm rubbing the faint triangle of hair before moving up Nate’s abdomen and chest, curving around Nate’s pectoral muscle and flicking his thumb over one hard nipple. “We can eat later.”

Nate arches his back, shoulders firm against Brad’s chest. He makes a noise, half pleasure and half pain, and his muscles tense under Brad’s hand. Brad trails the fingers of his other hand down Nate’s stomach, curving his palm around the hardness of Nate’s dick through his shorts. He squeezes lightly and his teeth nip at Nate’s neck, tasting the pounding of his pulse. Nate’s eyes close and he moans softly, thrusting into Brad’s hand. Brad’s mouth moves lower, teasing down the length of Nate’s throat to the thick tape of the bandage where it wraps over Nate’s shoulder. Nate shivers in Brad’s hands and turns his head, finding Brad’s mouth with his own as he turns to face Brad. “You’re not hungry?”

Brad cups the back of Nate’s head and holds him still as he leans in and covers Nate’s mouth with his own. The kiss is hungry and aggressive, want and longing wrapped up in the slide of tongues. Nate’s lips open underneath Brad’s and Brad licks his way inside, exploring the surfaces and crevices of Nate’s mouth. His fingers tighten on the back of Nate’s skull, holding him completely still as his other hand settles in the small of Nate’s back before he slides it down, fingers grazing beneath the waistband of Nate’s shorts.

Nate moans, the sound low and primal as he tries to edge closer to Brad, sliding his knee between both of Brad’s legs so their bodies align. Nate tilts his head, giving Brad better access to his mouth, exposing the line of his throat. Brad brings his fingers down, tracing the nape of Nate’s neck before following the beat of his pulse down to his collarbone and then back up to the curve of his jaw.

Brad breaks the kiss, pulling back to look at Nate’s face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted and wet from Brad’s mouth. They stand there, bodies flush together, for a long moment, then Nate licks his lips and finally looks at Brad. “I thought you could go at least four minutes without needing to breathe.”

Mouth twitching, Brad reaches down and undoes the button of Nate’s shorts, fingers catching the zipper before it’s barely unfastened, sliding it down. Nate shivers and eases back just enough to let the fabric drop on his hips. Brad slides his hand down Nate's ass, his arm catching on the fabric of Nate's shorts and pushing them down. His fingers follow the curve of Nate’s ass and he squeezes, pulling Nate closer as his shorts fall to the floor.

Nate’s cock is hard beneath the thin cotton of his briefs, tenting the fabric and rubbing the wet spot against Brad’s thigh. Brad squeezes again and Nate’s breath catches in his throat as he thrusts against Brad. “Fuck.”

Pulling back, Brad moves his hands to Nate’s sides, fingers skimming up and down his skin. Nate shivers and bites his lower lip hard, teeth white against the blanched skin. He toes his shoes off as Brad trails his fingers over Nate’s stomach, feeling the tightening of the muscles as Nate reacts to his touch. Brad stays silent, guiding Nate, turning him so that his back is to Brad. Nate moans softly, his body taut with anticipation and need as Brad’s fingers hook under the waistband of his briefs and guides them down, easing them over Nate’s cock before smoothing the fabric down Nate’s legs.

Nate reaches out, steadying himself against the edge of the desk as Brad’s fingers scrape lightly over Nate’s ass again. “ _Oh_ ,” Nate murmurs softly, his fingers tightening on the wood.

Brad sinks down to his knees behind Nate, his thumbs catching at the crack of Nate’s ass, parting the skin. He doesn’t speak, can’t think of any words to heighten this moment as Nate shifts, his stance widening, letting Brad spread him open.

“Br-” Nate’s cut off by his own gasp as Brad swipes the flat of his tongue across Nate’s hole, licking it once and pulling away, waiting what seems an eternity for Nate to relax before he does it again.

Nate looses another gasp, rising up on his toes, calf muscles tensing. Brad blows warm air over the tight pucker of Nate’s hole then licks him once more, a broad swipe from Nate’s perineum to the crest of his ass. Brad’s fingers dig into the firm flesh of Nate’s ass, his thumbs urging Nate open wider.

“Fuck, Brad.” Nate hunches over the desk for support, his elbows slipping on the smooth surface. Brad hears a muffled thump and then sees a scatter of pens and two heavy books land on the floor nearby, smiling to himself as he turns back to the curved line of Nate’s back. Nate moves his feet, angling more room for the probe of Brad’s tongue. His hips cant away from the desk, angling back against the pressure.

Brad coats the furled muscle with his tongue once more before using just the tip of his tongue to trace it, to flicker over it again and again. Nate’s muscles stand out in high relief beneath his skin as Brad tastes him, teasing the tight entrance with the vague promise of a thrust.

“Br…” Nate never finishes the word, his head falling forward onto his arms as Brad moves closer still, grazing the sharp edge of his teeth against Nate’s tender skin. Something else tumbles to the floor from the desk and Brad slides the tip of his tongue inside Nate’s ass. “O-oh.”

Brad closes his eyes, letting the sounds Nate’s making wash back over him. They vary wildly from sharp and high to low and guttural, and Brad experiments with his mouth, seeing what actions elicit what sounds, where his tongue and teeth and lips have to be, what they have to do to fire the nerve endings, to make Nate tremble and thrust away from the desk, searching for friction.

Pulling back, Brad blows a hot breath against Nate’s wet skin. Nate’s breath catches audibly and he shivers. His ass is parted between Brad’s thumbs and his hole is wet and pink, the skin puffy. Brad moves one hand, letting his fingers graze over the puckered flesh. “Fuck,” he breathes roughly, pressing his index finger firmly until Nate’s ass opens to the pressure, immediately constricting around the intrusion.

“F-fuck. Oh… _fuck_.” Nate’s head hits the desk hard and his calves flex as he goes up on his toes again, sensation shuddering along his skin. His back is bowed and he’s shaking, every muscle tensed. “Pl-please.”

“Oh, no.” Brad’s voice is thick and rough. His teeth graze the curve of Nate’s ass and he twists his finger slightly, pushing it in deeper. “I’m not even close to through with you yet.”

Nate makes a noise and Brad eases his finger back, sliding carefully out of Nate’s body before he slides his whole hand up Nate’s spine. Brad gets to his feet carefully, looking at Nate still bent over the desk, his knuckles white against the wood. Brad leans in, pressing the ghost of a kiss along the edge of the bandage on Nate’s shoulder.

“Come on.”

“Oh,” Nate’s laugh breaks, not enough breath to sustain it. “I’m not fucking going _anywhere_.”

Brad settles his hand in the small of Nate’s back. “I’m going to spread you out on your bed and fuck you open with my fingers.” Brad breathes against the bandage. “I’m going to open that cherry ass of yours with three spread fingers so you can slide down on my cock and ride me like one of your fucking country-club polo ponies.”

“P-Polo ponies?” Nate starts a laugh, but it segues into a strangled groan as Brad presses two fingers to Nate’s hole, the pressure and sensation causing his grip to slip. Nate’s nails dig into the wood and he sinks his teeth into his forearm, breathing hard and whimpering around his own flesh.

“Come on, Nate.”

Nate manages to lift himself up onto his hands, but his knees buckle when he shifts his weight. Brad’s right there, body aligned with Nate’s, helping to guide him to the bedroom. “I…”

“Shh.” Brad shakes his head as Nate props one knee on the edge of the bed. Brad helps Nate onto his hands and knees, head toward the foot of the bed. His hands rub the small of Nate’s back soothingly. “Going to be so good.”

“Brad…”

Brad ignores Nate’s soft plea, turning his attention to Nate’s bedside table. There are condoms and lotion in the drawer, which will work well enough. Turning back around, Brad catches sight of Nate in the mirror over the dresser and his breath stalls in his chest. “Oh, fuck.”

Nate swallows hard and licks his lips in response, not looking away from Brad’s gaze.

“So fucking-” Brad breaks off and strips out of his clothes, moving to kneel alongside Nate. He nuzzles Nate’s shoulder as he rubs a firm hand up and down Nate’s spine. “Going to feel so good with me inside you. So full.” Brad keeps rubbing, keeps watching. Nate’s eyes are blown black, just a hint of green circling the pupils. “Going to make it so good for you.”

Nate shifts his weight, his back arching, rolling his ass up toward Brad’s hand. “I…I want...”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Brad’s voice is low and rough, almost painful in his throat. He pours the lotion on one finger and, eyes still on Nate’s face, presses the cool liquid against Nate’s tender hole.

“O-oh.” Nate’s head falls forward and he thrusts back toward Brad’s fingers. Brad keeps rubbing as Nate forces his head up to meet Brad’s eyes again, holding them as Brad slides one finger in. Nate sucks his lower lip into his mouth and sinks his teeth into the flesh beneath it. Tension quivers along his skin, sweat beading along the sweep of his spine as Brad keeps thrusting, going slowly, working his finger as deep as he can as Nate’s body clenches around him. “It…”

“It’s okay.” Brad glances in the mirror as he slides his hand along Nate’s stomach. Kneeling beside Nate with the fingers of one hand inside him and the other hand on his stomach, teasing near his cock, rubbing the rough hair on Nate’s abdomen against his palm. Nate thrusts forward, the wet head of his cock sliding against the back of Brad’s hand, and then back, taking Brad’s finger even deeper. “Nice and easy. Take our time.”

“I want…I want…” Nate’s teeth scrape along his lower lip, the flesh blood red and standing out sharply against his white teeth. “Want…”

Brad nods and shifts away, pouring more lotion on his fingers and working a second one in. Nate makes a noise, a rough and shaky gasp, and his head falls forward again, not lifting this time as he rocks slowly back and forth, trying to breathe. “It’s okay. Not going to hurt you. Gonna make you feel so good, Nate.”

Nate pushes back as Brad thrusts his fingers forward. Two fingers buried inside him and Nate’s arms shake roughly, his fingers curling into fists in the covers. His breath is loud and shaky, matching the tenor of his muscles as they quiver in sensation, in restraint. Brad’s cock aches like a heavy weight between his legs and he wants to be inside Nate, wants to _feel_ everything running through him instead of just imagining it in his head. Nate manages to get his head up and look at Brad again, and his face is washed out with pleasure, overloaded to the point where nothing’s processing except feeling.

“Fuck,” Brad growls and buries his face against Nate’s back, licking sweat from the base of his spine. “Need you. Need to be inside you.”

“Y-ye-yes.” It comes out as a hiss, but Brad will take it, take anything Nate can give him. He keeps his fingers seated deep in Nate as he moves around behind him. Nate’s eyes are glazed, but he’s looking right at Brad in the mirror as Brad gets the condom on one-handed. Just touching his cock makes him hurt, but the promise of Nate around him won’t let him take his time.

“Stop me if…” Brad licks his lips and eases his fingers out, more lotion on the condom, on Nate’s hole. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Nate whimpers, back arching and body thrusting back toward Brad. “ _Please_.”

“C’mere.” Brad lies down on his back, stretching out on the bed. His fingers graze Nate’s calf and Nate attempts to turn, though his muscles are stiff and it takes a moment before he can actually move, crawling along Brad’s body and straddling him. Brad stills him as Nate reaches his hips and rubs his thumbs lightly over Nate’s thighs. “Right there.”

“Want you.” Nate leans in, his mouth a hot mess on Brad’s. His tongue fucks and teases, thrusts in and then pulls away as if he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do. Finally he bites Brad’s lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, filthy and hot as he thrusts his hips down, his cock rubbing against Brad’s.

“Okay. Okay. C’mon.” Brad eases Nate’s back so he’s kneeling over him and guides his cock to Nate’s opening, rubbing it against him. Nate shudders and he shifts, sinking down as Brad presses the tip of his cock against Nate’s hole. Brad closes his eyes, taking a deep breath as Nate’s body surrounds him, and he grips Nate’s thighs tightly to keep from moving. Nate’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out, caught somewhere as Brad slowly increases the depths of his thrusts until he’s buried inside Nate. “So…Christ, so fucking _tight_.”

“Slow. F-fuck. Slow. Slow.” Nate’s shivering, gasping, though Brad’s not sure if he’s talking to himself or to Brad or both. Nate’s body is like a vice around Brad, and he digs his nails into Nate’s thighs, feeling the muscles underneath his fingers flex as Nate rises up and then sinks back down in achingly slow increments, making hot, desperate noises as he does. Brad arches up, his ass rising off the bed, his own muscles tightening as Nate takes him inside him again. “Fucking…”

Nate reaches down, his hand planted against Brad’s chest for support as he starts to increase his speed. His breathing is still rough, faltering, and Brad forces himself to relax, to release his death-grip on Nate’s thighs and smooth his hands over the hair-roughened surface. “Yeah,” Brad breathes, licking his lips and closing his eyes for a moment, soaking in the feel of Nate’s body on his, around his. “Oh, fuck yeah.”

“B-Brad.” Nate’s fingers curl against Brad’s stomach and Brad’s eyes snap open. Nate’s shaking like he’s about to fly apart. Brad moves his hands up to Nate’s hips, steadying him. Nate uses them as leverage and alters his rhythm, gasping as he starts riding Brad roughly. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh…fuck. So…so…” He rakes his nails down Brad’s stomach to between his own legs, feeling the slick base of Brad’s cock where it enters him. Nate whimpers as Brad thrusts up harder, trapping Nate’s fingers between them for a moment before Brad pulls himself up to a sitting position, wrapping an arm around Nate’s back as he slips the other between them, circling Nate’s dick and jacking him.

“Come, Nate. C’mon.” Brad’s whispering, murmuring. His mouth is on Nate’s shoulder just above the tattoo, his breath fanning down onto it. “Come on.” He turns his head and licks the curve of Nate’s throat, nips his jaw. “Come for me.”

Nate’s entire body shudders and he arches his back, head falling back. Brad can feel the hot wetness on his hand and he groans, hips jerking upward hard and filling Nate until his own orgasm floods through him. Nate makes another sound, wordless and desperate, and grinds down against Brad.

Brad slumps back to the bed, breathing hard. Nate looks down at him, his own chest rising and falling in same rapid rhythm as Brad’s. He eases off and lies down beside Brad, his movements slightly off, not quite in control. Brad ties off the condom and disposes of it, then settles back onto the pillows. Nate moves in, resting his head on Brad’s chest.

“You okay?” Brad asks softly. Nate shakes his head just a bit and Brad brings a hand up to the back of Nate’s neck, rubbing it slowly. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Can’t…just…no brain.” Nate exhales again, just as shaky as before, the warm breath feathering over Brad’s nipple and tightening it. “Always…always thought ‘fuck my brains out’ was an exaggeration. A metaphor.” He looks up at Brad, a hint of a smile curving his mouth. “I was wrong.”

“I know you’re all virginal and shit, sir, but that wasn’t actually _brains_ that came out of your dick.”

Nate’s body shakes, this time with laughter. “Good to know.” He sits up, the change in his position causing him to sink back down on Brad. Brad groans and Nate smiles in earnest. “Do tattoos do that to everybody?”

“Everyone’s different.” Brad circles one of Nate’s nipples with his finger. “Should get cleaned up. Feed you.”

Nate nods, his face growing serious. “And what then?”

“Take the bandage off. Watch TV. Hang out.” Brad watches Nate’s eyes. “Do that again.”

“I’m not a civilian yet. I still have to report for duty on Monday.”

“Mmm. There are a lot of different things we can do.” Brad smiles and tugs Nate down, kissing him slowly. “So don’t worry, sir. I’ll be sure you can still walk.”  



End file.
